Voting is a pain in the wrist
That voting yesterday was a nightmare.
You see, there were two problems.
The first was a little surprise that I presented to Herself as a wee Valentine’s gift, last February. It was an all expenses voucher for a day learning how to clean out slurry tanks. She was thrilled. She called me an old romantic. She had a fine day of it, though she smells a bit stronger than usual today.
So yesterday I had to vote on her behalf as well as my own.
And then there was the problem that each of us was representing 100 disenfranchised voters in the rest of Europe. So I had to vote for them too.
Two fucking hundred ballot papers to put my X on! It was a pain in the arse and in the wrist. I have writer’s cramp today.
Luckily Sandy was able to do her own hundred.
Cheer up, could be worse. Think of those poor people in Chicago. They have to vote for residence of the local cemeteries. Of course as more polls switch to electronic voting it gets easier. You can just hack in from your local internet cafe and cast your vote, and correct your neighbors vote when they accidently vote incorectly.
Poor you! I landed on my feet actually! Some nice gentleman, who was standing outside the polling station, kindly offered to go in and take care of that bothersome paperwork for me. I graciously accepted and retired to the pub to watch the football instead.
When I came back out again, there he was again, still carrying out this fine act of generousity on behalf of others and not looking for a penny off any of them for doing it!
Jim – Actually I had a mandate to vote for about fifty people in the local cemetery, but the thought of an additional 5,000 ballot papers was enough. I went to the pub instead.
Longman – It’s wonderful the sense of benevolence that comes out at these times. People are so generous with their time and energy.
I got confused and voted for Dustin the Turkey!
Couldn’t be any worse than the Eurovision.
I hope your voting there is not like it is here in Florida, I don’t think you or Herself should be concerned about or touching your hanging “chads”